


Someplace Warmer

by JDGambit



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Depression, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-14
Updated: 2015-12-14
Packaged: 2018-05-06 16:09:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,456
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5423465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JDGambit/pseuds/JDGambit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>What becomes of a hero when the only one left to save is himself?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Someplace Warmer

**Author's Note:**

> I swear I meant to make this a happy fic. I don't even know what happened. This is supposed to be a friendship fic but I guess it could be pre-slash.

It's over. It's finally over and he's still alive. Probably. If his brief stint on the other side did anything for him the ability to spot the differences between life and death is greatly appreciated. The ruins of the once great Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry lay around him and bodies of both enemy and friend are strewn far and wide. No, he knows now for sure, this is life. Only life can cause such pain.  
Remus is dead, Tonks too, he registers passingly as he steps over their fallen forms. A sharp pain throbs in his chest but every step he takes adds to the numbness slowly creeping through his mind and body.  
The great hall still stands, though just barely, and the people inside are worse for ware. He spots the Weasleys easily for not even blood, dirt, and ash can mask their signature hair.  
"Harry!" Someone calls to him. He guesses it's Ron from the voice but it's hard to tell; his glasses are broken and there's a ringing in his ears that hasn't stopped since he came back to life. Maybe it's a toll he must pay for cheating death.  
"Harry, mate, Harry!" Ron waves him over to where, last he saw, Fred lay still and unresponsive. There's no Fred in sight now but George is there much too pale and grinning wide. Ginny approaches, seemingly out of nowhere, and fixes his glasses. He flinches slightly at the wand pointing at him but nobody dares mention it.  
Everyone is smiling, he now sees, not just George. He wants to smile back but his face feels like it's been set in concrete. He feels cold and even the hug Molly Weasley crushes him in is of no help.  
"Oh, Harry, dear. Oh, Harry, thank goodness you're safe. It's a miracle; all of my children safe." He realizes, as Molly's tears soak his shirt, Fred must be alright if all her children are safe. He's released from the embrace as Molly goes to fuss over Hermione only to be pulled into another; this time by George. This hug is different, less suffocating, and he can feel George's hands tremble slightly as they grip the back of his torn shirt.  
"Freddie'll be fine,"George answers his unasked question. George knows; Fred and George always know. "Freddie'll be fine and so will I and so will you." George tightens his grip and stops his hands trembling with sheer force of will. "You seem cold, Har." He nods in reply only then returning the embrace and resting his arms around George's waist. "Then let's go somewhere warmer." And, whether George meant immediately or later on when Fred was recovered, he didn't know but he nodded regardless. 

It's been three weeks since he died, three weeks since Voldemort fell, and three weeks since he arrived at the Burrow. Fred has been healed, though he is now short an ear and finger, and Bill and Charlie have returned to their respective homes. Hermione is staying but not for long. Her search for her parents will begin soon and Ron will likely follow her. George has been busy going too and from the Burrow and their shop which has been open for a matter of days.  
He hasn't spoken since he died. He can, he knows he can, but, all the same, he hasn't. Hermione is frustrated with him, he knows, and it's not as if he means to irritate her, he simply has nothing to say.  
"Harry?" Ginny's voice rouses him from the doorway. He looks at her and no longer sees the young girl who he saved in the chamber. No, this young woman has seen war, lived in it, survived it. She is strong, proud, and, if given the chance, could probably slay her own basilisk. He loves her, truly, as only the best of friends can. They are too similar, he knows, to be anything else.  
"Some of us are flooing over to Diagon. You want to join?" He shakes his head, just enough for her to see. She sighs, disappointed but not surprised. This is not the first time he's refused her invitation. "Right, then. Gred and Forge are saying back. They're out in the garden, I think. Probably scheming something." He nods and Ginny leaves.  
The quiet of the burrow feels entrapping. He hates being alone now days. It's when he's alone the ringing in his ears grows louder as if it's coming nearer. It makes him question. Is he really alive right now? Is any of this real? Death was unique, unforgettable, and felt completely different than how he now feels but, even if he's not dead, does that truly mean he's alive? Or is there another option he's overlooked?  
He shakes himself from his shouters. They are doing him no good. Fred and George are home, he reasons, if they're alive so is he.  
The garden is cool and he breeze makes it colder, certainly too chilly for his light sweater and bare feet. He doesn't mind it, though. At least he knows the cause of this chill.  
He spots the twins sitting under a tree with leaves that have turned shades of orange and gold. He wonders if they know how well the leaves match their hair.  
Fred spots him first and waves him over with a bang aged hand. George grins at him as he approaches. He can't help but notice how kindly they look at him yet how void of pity they seem to be. A rarity that he appreciates greatly. Georg's hand wraps gently around his wrist and he's tugged down between the Twins. They frown at his attire and huddle in closer blocking him brim the biting breeze. He might not mind the cold but they will not tolerate it.  
"Nice to see you, Har," George says watching him settle into their warmth.  
"How are you this fine autumn day?" Fred asks smiling. He's glad, so glad, Fred is here able to smile. He wants to smile too but settles for a nod and a shrug. There's a muggle notebook laying on the ground, fresh ink drying on the open page. He gestures to it lightly and the twins exchange a glance.  
"Tell you what, Har,"  
"We'll tell you-"  
"-everything that you-"  
"-want to know if-"  
"-and only if-"  
"-you promise not to tell."  
"No one, not even Mum." Their tone is light and teasing but, he can tell by the glint in their eyes and set to their jaws, they're serious. He nods solemnly and they grin.  
"We're going to open another shop!" George exclaims quietly, his glee unmistakeable.  
"Our shop here'll stay open, course, but we've hired some people to run it for us."  
"A fresh start'll be nice, right Har?" He can feel the unbridled joy in their tone and posture and can't help but nod. It's true, a new start would be nice. If only.  
"So, right now we're looking at locations."  
"Nothing close to home-"  
"-but nowhere we'd have to use translation charms."  
"Tricky things, those."  
"Another continent's best-"  
"-but we'll settle for out of country, see?" George ands him the notebook and he sees their haphazard writing but he can't bring himself to read it.  
The twins are leaving, leaving the country, leaving him. No, not leaving him. He doesn't factor into this. This is the twins doing what they need to do. If leaving the burrow, the country, the continent, is what they need, who is he to stop them? No one. He's no one. The ringing in his ears is growing louder.  
Maybe it's when his breath hitches and stutters or maybe it's when his hands begin to shake and the notebook falls to the dirt, he can't be sure, but an arm snakes around his waist and another slings over his shoulders. They hold him tight and steady.  
"Shh, Sweetheart, shh," Fred soothes squeezing his shoulders lightly,  
"We're not leaving you, Har."  
"Nope, never."  
"You're coming with us."  
"If you want to." George adds on hastily not wanting to pressure him.  
"Yeah, if you want to." They hold him tighter, as if they want to let go as little as he does. He hopes that's true. Slowly, as they sit silent in the cold, the shaking in his hands steadies and his breathing evens out syncing with that of the twins. The ringing is fading, though not silent, never silent.  
"I told you, Har," George starts as Fred's fingers card through his hair, "we'll all go someplace warmer." Oddly enough, or maybe not oddly at all, sitting there, tucked between the twins under a tree on a chilly autumn day, is the warmest he's been in years.

**Author's Note:**

> I've got ideas for more but I felt this was kinda complete in itself. Kinda.


End file.
